Rebel Spring (Falling Kingdoms 2)

“Really?” That made two of them, but that the queen chose to admit this aloud was very interesting.

“There have been moments of . . . strain . . . in my marriage.” The queen’s pallid cheeks tightened. “But I have always done what is right to uphold my position as a dutiful wife. For nearly twenty years I have stood by my husband’s side in times both dark and light. Even when I’ve disagreed with his decisions, his actions, I have not publicly said a thing against him. This is how a proper queen must conduct herself.”

“Of course it is,” Cleo said, the words sticking in her throat. That was not how she would conduct herself, if and when she retrieved her kingdom.

“I’m not blind, princess. I see how difficult it’s been for you, and believe me, I do empathize with all you’ve lost due to my husband’s lust for power. But I need you to know one very important thing . . . and I mean this with all of my heart and soul, speaking as one woman forced into an arranged marriage to another.”

Her soft, almost kind words came as a great surprise. “What is it?”

Queen Althea learned forward and grasped Cleo’s hands. “If you cause my son any pain, I will see you dead. Do you understand me, my dear?”

The woman said all this quietly, but there was no mistaking the weight of such a warning. A shiver ran down Cleo’s spine. “I understand, your highness.”

“Good.” The queen nodded and released her grip on Cleo’s hands. She glanced out the window. “Ah, very good. We’ve arrived in Hawk’s Brow.”

Heart pounding from the unexpected threat, Cleo peered out the small window to see the city she remembered so well, the home to forty thousand Auranians.

Cleo had always loved it here so much. The color. The spectacle. The flamboyant citizens and the music in the air no matter where one went. The carriage wound its way along streets made from polished, interlocking brick that sparkled under the bright sun. The shops and taverns lining the street gleamed silver and bronze, with bright copper roofs. Large trees heavy with the pink and purple blossoms of the season leaned over the roadways, creating natural arches of colorful and fragrant beauty.

With King Gaius on the throne, she’d expected it to be different now. Perhaps the music would be silenced. The colors would be muted. She’d expected to see shutters closed as the carriage rolled past small homes and larger villas.

But there was nothing like that. The city seemed much the same as the last time she’d been here, with one major difference. Red uniformed guards spotted the cityscape like drops of blood, mixing with Auranians as if this was a normal sight.

The king wished to rule over her people, to fool them into believing he was a good king with an unfortunately harsh reputation. It was easier to control gullible citizens fearful of losing their status or lifestyle than those who were downtrodden and abused and motivated to rise up and oppose him. So, except for some increased security, Hawk’s Brow appeared just as it had the last time she was here.

She should be glad for this, that her people were not suffering as horribly as she’d expected with a greedy king perched upon Auranos’s throne.

Instead, cold dread slithered into her gut.

This will not last.

How long would it be before everything changed and the people here, unsuspecting and soft from generations of luxurious living, would feel the pain caused by the King of Blood ruling over them? Or before those who did not so readily accept their new king caused enough unrest to unleash his wrath upon the innocent, rather than only upon accused rebels? It was a disturbing thought.

The carriage came to a halt in front of the dress shop Cleo remembered so well. There was a crowd of a hundred citizens gathered here, a burst of welcome color and friendly greeting.

“Princess Cleo!” a group of young girls called out to her. “We love you!”

Their collective voices formed a lump in her throat. She waved from the window in their direction and tried to smile brightly.

Nic jumped down off the top of the carriage to open the door and help the queen out and then Cleo herself. “And here we are,” he said, a half-grin on his face.

“Here we are.”

He lowered his voice so the queen would not hear. “Are you ready for this?”

“I suppose I must act as if I am.”

“A warning. Do not look to your left if you wish to keep a hold of your breakfast.”

Of course, with a warning like that, she had to look to her left. There, two artists were toiling feverishly on a mural on the side of a popular tavern: a plaster fresco that looked a great deal like a portrait of her and Magnus. She shuddered.

“How can they accept all of this so easily?” she whispered. “Are they really so naive?”

“Not everyone,” Nic replied, his jaw tight. “But I think most are too afraid to see the truth.”

A familiar man moved out of the store before them and rushed enthusiastically toward Cleo and the queen. The tunic he wore was the most vivid shade of purple Cleo had ever seen. It reminded her of squashed grapes on the brightest summer day. He was completely bald and his large ears gleamed with gold hoop earrings.

He bowed so deeply it looked painful. “Queen Althea, your gracious majesty. I am Lorenzo Tavera. I am deeply honored to welcome you to my humble store.”